


The mind is its own place

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Barkskins (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, Second fic of the year, What's happening to me?, post-season 1 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: Hamish is a terrible patient.Post-season 1 finale.
Relationships: Hamish Goames & Yvon
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	The mind is its own place

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently, after years of not writing anything, I now have a thing for micro-fandoms? Go me? ^^
> 
> This is set post-finale so spoilers for that if you haven’t watched it yet. You can also expect a sequel at some point because there is no way I’m going to leave it alone until I’ve gotten the two of them together. 
> 
> The title is, unoriginally, from Milton.

Hamish is a terrible patient.

It’s not that much of a surprise: the last time the man had caught a fever, he had insisted he was just fine and had done a good job pretending too – that is until he had fallen down in a swoon in the middle of the road during a downpour. Yvon had been rather cranky about it afterwards as they had just left a perfectly nice inn not three hours prior. At least _he_ had the good sense to rest and not go traipsing about in the rain when he got sick. 

Then again, it sometimes seems as if Hamish has no sense at all.

So when he comes back to their room with Hamish’s dinner and finds him struggling to an upright position, what he feels is mostly resignation.

“What are you doing?” he asks mildly – too mildly apparently, judging by the way Hamish’s eyes narrow. Because on top of everything else, Hamish also gets prickly when he is not at his best.

“I need to use the privy.”

“And you couldn’t wait for me to come back?” Yvon sets the stew down calmly and definitely does not throw it at Hamish’s head like a part of him wants to. It would upset Mathilde.

“I can manage by myself.”

Yvon snorts and Hamish glowers at him. It would be more effective if he didn’t look like he was about to fall on his face.

“Please, carry on then,” Yvon says sardonically, gesturing at him to proceed. 

Hamish, being the contrary man he is, does just that. He throws a triumphant look at Yvon when he manages to push himself to his feet and stand unaided, which lasts until he tries to take a step forward and his body decides it’s had enough and stops cooperating. Yvon is the only thing that stops him from ending in a heap on the floor and as Hamish clings to him and pants through the pain and exertion, Yvon magnanimously refrains from saying _I told you so_.

He helps him to the chamber pot because there is no way he’s getting him outside and back in his condition, and when Hamish is done they make their painstakingly slow way back. The room is frankly not that large and yet by the time Yvon deposits Hamish on the bed, he is chalky white and sweating. Yvon curses himself for not bringing to the pot to him instead – he shouldn’t have let Hamish’s pig-headedness get to him, even to prove a point, but recent events have left his temper just as frayed as Hamish’s.

He waits until some colour has come back to Hamish’s face before retrieving his dinner. It’s most likely gone tepid by now but it’ll still be better than their usual fare. Hamish makes a face when Yvon presses the bowl in his hands. He hasn’t been feeling very hungry lately but Mother Sabrine said it was important that he eats, and so Yvon raises an eyebrow at him and Hamish digs in reluctantly, clearing unwilling to invite another discussion on the subject.

Yvon watches him eat in silence, only accepting the bowl back when Hamish’s finished most of it. He had told Mathilde he would bring it back when they were done but it will keep. He doesn’t quite trust Hamish not to try to make another break for it otherwise.

“Are you still angry with me?” Hamish asks suddenly, not looking at him, and Yvon doesn’t even consider lying.

“Yes.”

Hamish’s mouth flattens in an unhappy line.

Yvon wishes he could have given him another answer but the truth is, he _is_ angry – furious even – although he can’t quite pinpoint the exact reason why anymore. Or maybe he knows only too well.

He is certainly not happy that Hamish tried to get out of bed when he is supposed to be resting, because the last thing they need is for him to set his recovery back but that’s not what he is asking. And yes, he _is_ still angry about Hamish’s foolish notion that he could sell his soul for the Company and make a deal with the Iroquois that they would abide to with no repercussions. Not to mention that Hamish tried to get himself killed when Yvon wasn’t there to watch his back.

But most of all, he is absolutely furious with Hamish for making him feel that horrible gnawing feeling deep in his chest that doesn’t seem to want to go away even now.

When the Iroquois had attacked Wobik, Yvon had known Hamish was dead. He had fought for the town because that’s what Hamish would have wanted – what he had died for – but when the reinforcements had arrived and the Iroquois had retreated, he had been left bereft of any distraction from the emotions clawing at him. Even Hamish’s return in a little wooden cart pulled by Mathilde and one of Bouchard’s men with the strange girl trailing behind hadn’t been able to quiet it. If anything, it had made it worse. Hamish had looked more dead than alive and Mother Sabrine’s grim look had not been encouraging. When she had said she didn’t know whether he would live or die some long hours later, it had seemed like Yvon had gotten Hamish back only to lose him again, and he had not dealt with that well.

It’s been weeks but even now, with Hamish finally on the mend, the feeling still lingers. Yvon knows what it is, grief mixed with regret and something else he’d rather not examine too closely. What he doesn’t know is how to move past it, how to make it better – make _them_ better – when even watching Hamish be his usual stubborn self doesn’t quite manage to make him feel normal again.

“Bill Selby is dead,” he says abruptly. 

He isn’t sure what makes him share that titbit of information now of all time but at least it gets Hamish to meet his eyes. He hasn’t been doing much of that lately. Yvon thinks maybe he’s ashamed, though it doesn’t make much sense as Yvon has done his fair share of evil deeds in the past – something Hamish is well aware of. Still, Hamish has always held himself to impossibly high moral standards and what he seems willing to ignore in Yvon doesn’t appear to be something he can forgive in himself, at least not yet.

“How?” Then, as if realizing the answer to that is rather obvious, he amends his question to: “When?”

That _is_ a better question because as far as Hamish knows, Yvon hasn’t left his side since he’s woken up – ill-advised trips to the kitchen notwithstanding. But there had been three days between the moment Hamish had been brought in and the moment he had regained consciousness, and Yvon had found himself unable to sit and do nothing while waiting for the worst to happen. The girl had started talking again by then and while her account had been a little confused, one thing had been clear: an Englishman had shot Hamish and so Selby would die.

It had been easy enough to follow the trail left by the Iroquois, and easier still to wait until Selby was alone to come up behind him and slide a knife through his ribs. He had never seen him coming but Yvon had made sure to look him in the eye as he laid dying so Selby would know who had killed him – and would know _why_.

His only regret about the whole thing is that he couldn’t take his time with him. 

“Before you woke up,” he answers and Hamish nods as if that explains everything. 

Maybe it does.

“Thank you,” he says quietly and Yvon hides his surprise with a jerky nod.

Unsure where to go from there, he picks up the book on the bedside table and clears his throat.

“Now, where were we?”

Hamish sighs but Yvon knows it’s mostly for show because he doesn’t protest when Yvon starts to read Milton’s words out loud. 

It’s not long before Hamish falls asleep – it never is these days – and Yvon closes the book quietly. He is tired too and he’ll go to his bedroll in a moment. But he wants to sit there a little while longer.

He watches Hamish breathe, and he breathes with him.

They’ll be okay.


End file.
